


The Flatmate

by starkslevy



Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: Angst, Other, Post-Canon, Post-Series, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 09:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12909129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkslevy/pseuds/starkslevy
Summary: Ralph has lived a quiet life since the island, kept himself out of the public eye, and isolated himself from society. Until he finds a roomate, Philip Lancaster, with both good, and bad, repercussions.





	The Flatmate

Ralph cautiously pinned yet another flyer onto a post right outside his flat. After he realized that it was the last one he had, Ralph read it over again for the one-thousandth time:  
FLATMATE WANTED, 3 MONTHS UPFRONT, NO PETS.  
Below that, he had written the technical nonsense: rent, utilities, water, etc.. Ralph had never wanted a flatmate—after leaving boarding school he could never imagine being in such close quarters with another person again...especially after the island. Just thinking about it made Ralph’s skin crawl, but he had no choice. His savings had just about drained, and his parents only offered to pay half of the rent. He exhaled and trudged the rest of the way up to his flat, the familiar damaged door with the missing number giving him a sense of comfort. He knew that no matter what happened, the flat would always be his.  
Yet, after twelve interviews, Ralph had started to take it being “his flat” quite literally. No one was as independent as he was, and he couldn’t bear the thought of having to socialize at all hours of the day, seeing as he didn’t have a job to keep him occupied. He needed someone who could keep to themselves, was on time with payments, and, basically, just slept there at night and left again in the morning. Ralph didn’t think he was asking for too much. Before he could advance his own argument against himself, he heard a faint knock on the door. He shouted a brief “come in,” before the door cracked open to reveal a boy about his age, maybe slightly older, with dark brown hair, and an average build. He introduced himself as Philip Lancaster, or “Phil” for short. He was quiet, and rarely looked Ralph in the eyes, but made sure to mention he that worked 12 hour shifts every day, and was paid bi-weekly. All in all, Ralph was desperate, and Philip seemed to be just what he was looking for. So, right then and there, they agreed on a move-in date, and Philip signed the lease.  
Weeks had passed since Phil had moved in, and although Ralph had been quite content with the current living situation, he had a hard time trying to hide his past. Carefully strewn across the flat were articles about “Hell Island” and “The Boys Who Lived.” Despite this, Philip never inquired, but Ralph grew more cautious over time, and his nightmares grew worse and worse for no apparent reason. After one particularly grueling day, Ralph tried, without succeeding, to fall asleep. All throughout the day he had been plagued by thoughts of Piggy and Simon, trying to wipe every memory of them from the flat with no avail, as the very floorboards even reminded him of the dull color of his old school uniform.  
Tossing and turning, Ralph had finally given up on trying to sleep, but as the exhaustion took over him, he heard the familiar screams and shouts of voices he hadn’t heard in years.  
“Which is better—to have rules and agree, or to hunt and kill?” Ralph recognized this voice as no other than Piggy, and if this progressed how it had on the island, well, Ralph knew what was coming next. The rocks began to fly between Jack’s tribe and Ralph’s own, but instead of staying focused on his own rage towards Jack, like he had all those years ago, he tried to protect Piggy. Alas, there was Roger, and as if on cue, the boulder was thrown again, and crushed Piggy’s bones with a loud crunch that soon enveloped Ralph’s ears at an almost deafening pitch. However, this time, Piggy wasn’t dead. His limbs were sprawled out like a ragdoll’s, and blood was sprayed everywhere. Sharp groans and whimpers were heard coming from under the boulder, and Ralph thought this was his second chance. Ralph could finally save Piggy and rectify every bad thought that held him hostage after the years of denial. Twelve year-old Ralph ran over to the boulder, and pushed until it dropped onto the shore below, but instead of being greeted with a smiling-face, he was quickly met with Piggy’s barely recognizable features. Ralph was horrified, but before he could scream, words began to stream out of Piggy’s mouth.  
“R-R-Ralph...p-please...kill m-me,” Piggy choked out. Ralph was horrified as Piggy repeated this over and over.  
“Ralph, please. Please kill me,” but Ralph couldn’t take it anymore, and began to cry, screaming. “No! No Piggy! I won’t! I won’t! I can still save you, I promise!” he shouted, but the weight of Piggy’s request began to sink in, and before Ralph could think, he found himself reaching for a rock nearby.  
Ralph was abruptly shaken awake, with tears streaming down his cheeks, and Philip sitting before him, a worried expression painted on his face.  
“I heard screams, and I was scared something had happened, are you alright?” Ralph was taken aback by Phil’s sudden company, yet, he didn’t feel the urge to make him go away, or yell at him in the same way he had dealt with his parents. Instead, he began to sob. He told Philip everything. About the island, about Piggy and Simon—everything. Philip did nothing but nod and pay attention to all that he had to say, and, when Ralph was done, he said something that Ralph had never heard. Not from therapists, not from his parents, and not from any of his friends.  
Philip deeply sighed, and said, “I know. I know what it’s like to wake up not knowing hot to live your life. Not knowing how to function after you’ve done so many things that make you unable to sleep at night. Resorting to coping methods you never thought you’d have to use. I understand, Ralph, and I understand why you don’t talk much. I know what it’s like to think that forming attachments can ruin you, that saying anything even slightly out of character will ruin your life again, but I promise, I’m here for you.” And, with that, Philip, with a brief hand placed on Ralph’s shoulder, left Ralph’s room for the night, with Ralph feeling a way he had never felt in his entire life. Finally, someone understood.  
While the winter months approached and the weather grew colder, Ralph and Philip grew closer, spending their nights together. During the day, Ralph longed for Philip to return from work. They would talk about nonsense, and recall memories from their childhoods. Ralph had finally begun to yearn for a friendship after fifteen years of not even wanting to speak to his own family.  
One day, Philip had finally returned home to see Ralph laying on the sofa, organizing a chess board.  
“You play?” Philip questioned, throwing his keys on the nearest surface.  
“Not for about ten or so years I suppose,” Ralph said, not returning Philip’s gaze. Phil took this as a cue to sit, and they started their game. They played for hours, and each time a new game would start, a new conversation topic would arise, and never a dull moment there was, at least to them there wasn’t.  
“I can’t thank you enough,” said Ralph. He slipped it in so nonchalantly that Philip barely noticed.  
“For what, mate?”  
“For being a friend, I guess. After the island it was er-tough making friends.” Ralph shyly averted Phil’s gaze.  
“No problem. Same to you.” Ralph didn’t ask what Philip had meant but instead let the moment sink in before making his next move, promptly capturing Phil’s king, ending the game.  
Days passed and Ralph had become accustomed to Philip’s constant company. Phil had holiday vacation off of work, and they’d become attached at the hip, doing anything and everything together. Ralph’s nightmares had come few and far between and they could finally spend days together instead of nights. Although truthfully Ralph hadn’t minded either. Phil was in the shower, and Ralph’s stomach was rumbling like thunder. He wanted to order takeout, but his parents hadn’t sent him his allowance yet this month, and he didn’t have any cash. He decided to ask Phil of he could spot him a $20, and pay him back in a week or two.  
“Phil! Could you lend me a $20 for some food? We can split it and I’ll pay you back!” Ralph shouted, hoping Phil could hear him from the shower.  
“Yeah, grab my wallet, it’s in the nightstand near my lamp!” Ralph walked towards Phil’s room and slid across the bed to reach the nightstand. He opened the top drawer and fumbled through some papers and stopped upon something he thought he’d never see again. In his hands were a pair of glasses, one side cracked, with bloody fingerprints on both lenses. His lungs seemed to close, his heartbeat was escalating by the minute and tears threatened to spill from his eyes. Right then, Phil walked in, and when he realized what Ralph held in his hands, his face went ghost white.  
“What is this?!” Ralph screamed, “Where did you get these?! Explain yourself!”  
“I-I… I’m sorry Ralph… I’m so sorry. My real name isn’t Philip Lancaster, I changed it. My name was Jack, Jack Merridew. I dyed my hair and changed my name after we got back from the island, the public hated me. I’m so sorry Ralph.” Ralph’s face went from confusion to red hot anger, his hands began to shake with rage and Jack’s face streamed with tears.  
“How could you?! I trusted you! You were my best friend, and now I’m finding out that you are the person I’ve spent my life loathing! You killed my Piggy and Simon, I hate you,” and with that, Ralph grabbed the lamp next to him, and slammed it against Jack’s face, knocking him to the ground. Ralph climbed on top of his limp body, and while bashing his skull in, his mind flooded with memories of the island, the signal fire, the murders, the Lord of the Flies, all of it, but all Ralph could hear was “Kill the pig, cut his throat, bash him in!” The chant echoed in Ralph’s mind as he struck him again, and again, and again. Blood soaked the carpet and splattered the room around him, bits of flesh and muscle visible on Ralph’s clothes, he then rose from Jack’s lifeless body, and stumbled to his room. He crawled into bed, soaked in blood, and had the best nights sleep he’s had in 15 years.


End file.
